I just finished this mystery book about a Texas cop with a K-9 partner. The female cop is a vegetarian, feminist, catholic who loves her canine partner. The dog does brave things, is shot taking down the bad guy, and makes a heroic recovery after nearly dying.
It made me think of my dog Sasha who was neither smart nor heroic but had a heart of gold. Sasha was my first dog. I waited a long time for him. I waited until I wasn’t a renter and had an appropriate yard for him. I waited until I trusted myself to not abuse him. I waited until February 1984 when I was done waiting.
I wanted a puppy that was as mellow as possible. I also wanted a lab or golden retriever. I didn’t have a lot of money. I didn’t know anything about pet stores, puppy mills, or rescue dogs. I went to my local pet store and found to my delight six mixed golden retriever/yellow lab pups.
They had round bodies with short curly golden hair. Males and females. Most of them were yapping at me, looking up wanting to be played with or touched. One male dog was trying to sleep and seemed disturbed by his siblings' activity. He had the best little curls of golden hair. “That,” I said to myself, “is the dog for me.”
I couldn’t take him right then. They put bright pink nail polish his front nails to mark him as mine. I went off to find a friend to come look at him and $50 in cash.
Later, I returned and took him home. My partner at the time wanted a female dog. I didn’t tell her for several days that he was male. She didn’t seem to notice his extra appendage. I was hoping she would fall in love with him before I had to confess. I didn’t see why his gender should get in the way of my finding the perfect dog.
We settled in. I quickly taught him to not pee in the house. My methodology was that if I was thinking about him peeing he was most likely thinking about it. I took him outside every two or three hours all day and all night. Within three days, he had the idea.
When I was at work, I kept him in the garage and cut a dog door into the wall so he could go out. At that point in Olympia, there wasn’t a strong need to keep dogs fenced in. I lived on a dead end road with no traffic.
A bit in front of my garage was a three bay carport with a shop where I kept my tools with a simple pad lock. In March, I came home to discover the shop door open and the majority of my tools stolen. I had a large cedar box in my shop. Apparent, they took the box and just loaded it up with my tools. I looked around apprehensively for Sasha. With him being the cutest puppy on the planet, I worried they had simply scooped him up and taken him with them.
To my relief when I called him, he came out of the garage. I imagine he came out to greet the thieves too. I was so glad they hadn’t taken him. Tools, I felt, could be replaced but not my beloved dog.
Every day after work, I would take him for a walk in the woods behind my house. It was grand to have his companionship. I noticed that the more exercise he got the more likely he was to come when called and follow simple commands. As he got older, he needed an increasing amount of exercise. I began to make play dates with other dogs so he could get exercise and learn to socialize.
It was later that year after I’d broken up with my partner of four years that Ronnie moved back to Olympia. With her, she brought her young, large dog. Zoa was a collie, German Shepherd mix. She was very, very smart.
In comparison, I had to acknowledge that Sasha was loyal and eager to please but not the sharpest tool in the shed. It didn’t seem to matter to Zoa. When Ronnie started going to her master’s program, she would be out of town for a week at a time and Zoa would stay with Sasha and I.
As they got older that first year, they got more and more attached to each other. Zoa would leave her house while Ronnie was at work to visit Sasha at my house. It was alarming that it required Zoa to go from the south side, across a very busy Harrison Avenue, to the north side where I lived.
Zoa’s cleverness knew no bounds. Ronnie attempted all manner of things to keep Zoa at home. She had a chain link fenced yard. Zoa dug her way out. Ronnie filled the holes. Zoa unfilled them. Zoa had many friends on my side of town including the local food coop. Ronnie would get calls from friends and the coop saying, “Zoa’s here. I thought you should know.”
Ronnie locked Zoa in the house. But if a window was even an inch open, Zoa would force it open to get out. She had her own things she wanted to do. With all the windows closed, Ronnie would come home to some very chewed up Venetian blinds with a bit of blood on them. Zoa did not think she should be left at home despite being left with a very nice bone.
When she did decide to stay at home, she would take one of Ronnie’s shoes and bury it in the yard. During gardening season, Ronnie discovered various single shoes in different stages of decay.
Zoa was used to riding shot gun in Ronnie’s car. Whenever, I rode with Ronnie, Zoa sat in the back and gave me the evil eye. When I would take Zoa and Sasha around town in my Volkswagen van, I could count on returning to the van with Zoa in the driver’s seat. I was pretty sure if she had the keys she would have taken it for a spin.
Ultimately, Zoa proved she was much happier being with Sasha. They either hung out during the day in the open van or lazed around Ronnie’s house when both of us were at work.
Sasha, on the other hand, was a good ole boy. He stayed pretty close to home unless there was a windstorm or lightning. Then, he would run off wild-eyed and end up at Ronnie’s house with Zoa again crossing that damn Harrison.
It was clear Sasha and Zoa were in love and partnered long before Ronnie and I were.
* * * * * * *
Although he was a retriever, I could not get Sasha interested in balls or sticks. He would look them over and leave them. By accident, I discovered he liked rocks. Actually, very large rocks. If I threw one in a small pond or lake, he would stick his nose or whole face in and retrieve just that rock. He preferred rocks about the size of baseballs. He would chase them and bring them back. I was aware there maybe long term problems for his teeth with this behavior but he simply would not retrieve anything else.
I knew he had a retriever’s very soft mouth. To prove it one day, I rolled an egg across the carpeted floor. Just as I suspected, he went, gently picked up the egg, and brought it back to me unbroken. When my daughter was born, I never feared because of his incredible gentleness. He was kind and loving but not a mental giant.
When confronted with a puzzle too big, he had a little yelp that I could recognize from far off. When I heard that yelp, I had to go help him with whatever had overwhelmed his problem solving skills. One early morning at five, I awoke to his yelp from quite far through the window. It sounded like a high pitched, “Arck! Arck!”
I knew there was no point in ignoring the problem. I got out of bed, pulled on my pants and shoes, to go find him. I went out to the yard and listened. “Arck! Arck!” I was right. He was trapped somewhere. It sounded from down the street.
“Sasha!” I called to help hone in on his location.
“Arck! Arck!” I watched for him as I walked up the street. Several doors down lived an older woman, Hazel, that I spoke to occasionally. As I approached her yard, I heard Sasha yelp closer. I saw him in her three foot high wire fenced yard.
I laughed, “Sasha, what the hell?” Obviously, if he had gotten in there, there was a way out. There was a small gate which appeared to have closed ever so much after he had gone in. He simply could not figure out how to get out. I walked up quietly so as not to disturb Hazel who seemed to have slept through this little escapade.
“Couldn’t find the gate, eh? Come on, Sasha. Let’s go home.” Once I pushed the gate open further, he wandered his way out and walked home with me.
It wasn’t just a closed yard that confounded him. Ronnie and I would go for walks at night. There was one piece of wooded property that had a single side with a six foot chain link fence. Of the four sides of the property, only one side had the fence along the road. As we strolled by, Sasha went in one side. Ronnie, Zoa, and I kept on walking down the road. Sasha disappeared. After about a block away, I heard the familiar, “Arck!”
“God,” I said to Ronnie, “he can’t find his way beyond a fence that is wide open on two sides” and walked back. There was my dog looking forlornly out of the fence as if he was caged. “Come on, Sasha, just walk along with me.” Gamely he followed to the end of the fence and happily discovered he was free. Dumb as a post! This sort of thing could never have happened to Zoa.
Shortly after I got Sasha, my Grandpa’s old dog had to be put to sleep. My Grandpa’s voice broke when he told me about putting down Snoopy. When my Grandpa met Sasha for the first time, Sasha greeted him like an old friend and wrinkled the top of his muzzle showing a bit of his teeth in his version of a smile. Grandpa loved Sasha and called him “Satch” whenever he saw him.
Sasha had a retriever’s nose and would inspect the neighbors’ yards bringing several items home with him. He brought home deer antlers. It was impossible to know where he got them. I had to take them from him because they were curvy and too pointy to be safe.
He once found a very large leg bone about 16 inches long hanging out of both sides of his mouth. It was thick and looked like it was from a cow. At that point, we started calling him Sasha Bones.
One day, he brought home a brown paper lunch sack. I had no idea what was in it, but he was happy to share. Inside, it was full of pot. It looked ready for smoking and this was when Marijuana was still illegal in Washington. I knew it had to come from my neighbors who didn’t seem to work. I gave it to some friends who could appreciate that kind of windfall.
When my daughter was under two before Ronnie and I lived together, the neighbors behind me found a German Shepherd which they named Jack. Jack and Sasha played together every day when Zoa wasn’t around. Jack was relatively easy going and ready to romp. At that time, I still lived with a woman named Margo.
One summer during the fading light of evening, I heard what sounded like Jack and Sasha fighting. I ran out, yelling to get them to break it up. But, they kept growling, fighting, and appeared to be locked in conflict. They were moving around the yard fast but wouldn’t separate. I kept yelling and following them until I got close enough to see they were entwined somehow. Margo went to get a hose to break up the fight.
I finally got a hand on Sasha and was able to see that Jack’s tooth was caught in Sasha’s collar. In the dim light as I got them to stay still, I reached down to loosen Sasha’s collar. Sasha was panting very hard. I could tell he was straining to breathe. As I reached my hand down trying to get to the collar loose, my index finger was in Sasha’s mouth. In reflex, he bit down hard.
“No,” I yelled. “Sasha! Let go!” He released my finger. I could tell my finger was bloody but I ignored it. I knew he was half crazed. I found Sasha’s collar was so twisted around Jack’s canine tooth it wouldn’t come loose. It was so imbedded in Sasha’s neck that I couldn’t get a purchase on it to cut it off.
After being bitten by Sasha, I knew I didn’t know Jack well enough to work with his mouth. I ran to the neighbor’s and got Jack’s owner Dave to come help me. In the gloom, Dave could see the twisted collar tightly hung on Jack’s tooth.
Dave said, “We’re gonna need a razor blade. I’ll go back and get one.” Fortunately, Dave was a contractor and could lay his hands on one quickly and ran back to his house.
Sasha’s breathing was more and more labored as I waited for Dave to come back. I didn’t know how much time he had. Margo ran up and said, “Joceile,” her voice cracked, “what if Sasha...”
I didn’t wait for her to finish. “Shut up,” I snapped, “it’s okay if Sasha dies.” I couldn’t deal with her fear. I knew Sasha might die but I was going to do everything in my power to keep it from happening. I had to focus on that. I didn’t have time to dwell on him not making it.
Dave ran back with a razor blade. He held on to Jack’s mouth as he tried to cut the collar off his tooth. Sasha’s breathing became more infrequent. It took longer to cut the collar than I thought possible. Just as Dave cut the collar off the tooth and it came loose, Sasha stopped breathing.
I looked down at him holding my breath preparing myself for the next step. I started counting in my head, “One thousand one, one thousand two...” If he didn’t start breathing within 30 seconds I was going to start pounding on his chest and yelling for him to come back to me. At the 20 second mark, Sasha did a sharp intake of breath and started breathing again. Dave and I cheered. Sasha was back. It was such a very close call. I talked to him and stroked him reminding him that I loved him and was so glad he made it.
After I made sure Sasha had recovered, it was time to deal with my finger. Margo got ready to take me to the emergency room. Dave offered to drive me and offered to pay for the visit. I just wanted to go and get my finger taken care of. Sasha had sliced through the cuticle of my right index finger. To this day, I have the scar. My cuticle will always have a notch in it. It was a small price to pay to keep my dear dog.
* * * * * * *
It was obvious that Sasha and Zoa knew they were in love. The two were inseparable. Even when other dogs were around, it was clear they preferred each other.
We took them everywhere with us. I had a canoe. Ronnie and I would paddle. Zoa and Sasha were good swimmers. They would follow us. When they got tired, we would invite them in to sit still. I insisted they sit!
In the San Juan Islands, they followed us across a channel. In Woodard Bay in Olympia, they rode out with us one evening to look at the seals lounging on old Weyerhaeuser Timber Company property. We had to hurry back shortly after arrival because the seals in the water with their sleek heads and liquid filled dark eyes were freaking out the dogs.
In the summers, we loaded up the truck with dogs, boat, kayak, cooler, food, and daughter and went to one of Olympia’s many lakes to spend the afternoon. We had several favorite downed trees to tie up to, swim, hang in the sun, and read. In one place, the downed tree arched over the water.
Sasha and Zoa, who were very sure footed, would walk out on the log and lay down lazily two or three feet above the water and snooze. One afternoon, Ronnie and I were each reading our books and working on our tans. We heard this giant splash. We looked at the dogs. Sasha had fallen asleep, fallen off the log, and was paddling back to shore. He then crawled back on the log with Zoa. We were certain that one episode would be enough for him.
Thirty minutes later, we heard another loud splash and saw Sasha once again paddling back to shore after falling asleep and falling off a second time. He was unfazed. During that afternoon, periodically he would fall asleep again, and “Splash,” down he would go. Of course, this never happened to Zoa.
Sometimes, I wondered if Sasha’s near death experience had affected his brain power. Then, I would remember he started out that way.
* * * * * * *
Sasha and Zoa spent their days gnawing on each other making gentle growling noises or slept near each other. As Alex grew, we never worried about her playing in the yard with the dogs. We knew she was safe as long as they were around. They would never harm her. (1)
One day, Alex wanted to walk up the street by herself. Ronnie considered, “You can go up two blocks to the stop sign as long as you take Zoa with you.” Alex took Zoa on a leash. Ronnie knew that Zoa would protect her.
As Alex got older, she had two different bunnies. The final one was a soft, gray lop eared bunny named, you guessed it, Bun Bun. Bun Bun would hang out in the yard on a long wire leash with the dogs. Zoa was especially fond of what came out of Bun Bun’s back end. She would follow behind Bun Bun and gently push her little butt out of the way to get the tasty, dark brown bunny pellets that the bunny left.
Bun Bun was also fond of Sasha. She would run after him, wrap him in her leash, and sit on his back. The two of them would hang like that just watching the world go by. Bun Bun’s fondness for Sasha was legendary. When Alex was eight, she and her friend Asa decided that Bun Bun and Sasha should have a wedding ceremony.
Sasha was dressed in a black bow tie. Bun Bun had a small veil that looped around her neck and over her little bunny eyes. Zoa wanted no part of this little drama. I was both camera person and officiate. As the wedding ended, I instructed Alex to throw the bouquet. Instead, Alex gently tossed Bun Bun forward into the air as I yelled, “Not the bunny! Not the bunny!”
Next, Alex and Asa escorted the newlyweds into the play house. They were locked in for their honeymoon while Alex and Asa silently watched through the windows. It was the shortest honeymoon on record. (2)
Ronnie and I walked the dogs off leash nightly through the neighborhood. One night, the dogs lit out for something. A block away we saw a skunk. Despite our alarmed yelling, the dogs made straight for that damn skunk. After getting thoroughly blasted with skunk smell, they came loping back up to us as if they had won a fabulous award.
Ronnie and I looked at each other. This was not good. What were we going to do? Inventively, I said, “I know. We take them in the car and drive them ten miles out of town. We let them out and drive home. By the time they find their way back in a couple days, they won’t smell so bad.”
“There’s just one problem with that idea.”
“Just one?” I asked.
“We would have to actually sit IN the car while driving them and would have to SMELL them while we drove.”
“I see your point. What are our other options?” By now, it was ten o’clock at night.
Ronnie said, “I’ve always heard that you're supposed to bathe the dog in tomato juice to get rid of the skunk smell.” I had heard that too. There was no internet at that time to verify our thoughts. Lacking any other great ideas, we ran to the nearest grocery store to stock up on tomato juice. Sasha and Zoa were summarily locked in the yard to await our armed return.
Returning with our six cans of tomato juice (they were big dogs), we had to work out how this process would work. First thing was to get appropriate clothing. We stripped and put on old long underwear leggings and tops. We wanted to wear clothing we could burn afterward. To deal with the need for masks, we used old red bandanas. Certain our bodies were protected and noses offended as little as possible, we got the hose ready for the big cleaning.
It was getting on toward midnight. We looked like undressed western bandits in our long underwear and face covering bandanas. We got the dogs in the front yard and began washing them with tomato juice. Wet dog, add juice, thoroughly rub in dog’s coat, add more juice, rinse off, repeat. Ronnie and I laughed and giggled uncontrollably as we executed this great plan. Two young lesbians in love washing their love dogs at midnight with tomato juice on the front yard dressed like refugees from a bad western. We could hardly stand up because we were laughing so hard.
There’s a funny thing about skunk and tomato juice that I didn't known. Skunk smells similar to garlic. When we added the tomato juice, the dogs ended up smelling like very garlicky tomato sauce. It certainly changed the way they smelled. For days, it smelled like the dogs had come from long term living in an Italian restaurant. However, it did not eliminate the skunk smell. The smell was just transformed. It took weeks and several more baths sans juice before the dogs smelled like regular dogs.
Zoa was a year or so older than Sasha. As the dogs aged, Zoa had trouble with her spine and back legs. The vet suggested she be given a Demerol a day to help with pain. I thought a Demerol a day was a reasonable way to age.
At 11, it looked like Zoa was failing. We invited all our friends to come and say goodbye to her. We dug a very large hole for the impending burial in the front yard. Once that hole was dug, Zoa took one look at it and said, “No way. I’m not ready.” She recovered a lot of her old self. I put a sheet of plywood over the hole. No way were we going to dig that damn hole again. Zoa lived for another couple years.
After we finally put down Zoa, Sasha didn’t come into the house any more. He would just sit at the far end of the yard and look at the sky with concern. We just assumed he was worried about flying saucers and aliens. But, he may have been hoping Zoa would come home.
It was a long year for him. We got another dog, Hawkeye, that perked him up a bit. It was never the same for him. As he got older, he stayed out there at the end of the yard and gave his repeated, “Arck! Arck!” It was clear he was terribly unhappy though not in any physical pain. We simply could not ease his mind.
As his discomfort became constant, we decided it was time to say goodbye to him and let him join Zoa. I dug the hole in case it would have the same curative effects as it had on Zoa. Though, nothing changed for Sasha. The vet came to the house. Ronnie, Alex, and I went out in the yard to say our quiet farewells to our old Sasha Bones. Once he received the injection, he slipped gentling into that good night.
A few weeks later, I saw them in my dream. Zoa and Sasha cavorting together wrestling, playing, and dancing through our front yard. When I told Ronnie, she said, “I want to see them too!”
I’m sure it was better for them to be together. It was never right to have Sasha without his one great love. I will always remember them in their sweet love story. It’s just Ronnie and I now living out our own love story that the dogs had shown us first. Fortunately, we live much longer lives.
L’Chaim.
Joceile
11/18/18
- Alex and the dogs: https://youtu.be/dEBJQuDPqcY
- Wedding video: https://youtu.be/ejaruu7C97o
Photos: Sasha and Zoa [Picture of two large tan dogs. One biting the other’s head.] Sasha, Alex, Zoa, and Asa [Picture of tan dog, girl kneeling with blue fleece and flowered pants. Second tan dog sitting next to boy squatting wearing jacket with dark green, blue, and red stripes.]
